Chapter 106: The Dark Horse Prince versus the Nordic Deity

When Chu Chuo’s rap concluded, everyone thought the performance was coming to a close. Unexpectedly, the stage lights blazed on, and with a graceful motion, Chu Chuo shrugged off his jacket, now clad only in a white short-sleeve shirt and black trousers.

“Ugh, I knew it—showing off some skin again,” whispered Xiao Yu softly in Mei Ning’s ear. Mei Ning curled her lips in shared disdain.

Suddenly, a cascade of water curtains descended like rolling blinds. To the rhythm of the adapted beats, Chu Chuo unleashed his signature urban dance moves and unparalleled command of rhythm, infusing the song with fresh sparks and vitality.

It was as if this was the third chapter of the song—the boy had emerged from heartbreak’s shadow and found his own happiness.

Even more impressive was the unpredictable yet perfectly synchronized formation of all six dancers, as if they had rehearsed for ages.

Qin Meng, hidden behind the curtain, secretly wiped away tears. It had been so long since she had seen this side of Chu Chuo. After a brief sob, she glanced toward Lin Zhiwei at the staff seats—could it be that Director Lin’s words had truly awakened him?

Or perhaps, facing off against the reigning star, Chu Chuo was determined not to be outshone.

Fans in the audience screamed themselves hoarse; Chu Chuo’s votes surged rapidly, and thousands of messages flooded the live chat.

The entire performance ended with a perfect final pose, earning unanimous praise from fans. Though often arrogant, Chu Chuo had undeniably clawed his way up through the entertainment world step by step, and his talent remained undeniable.

Lin Zhiwei applauded as well. Any performance given with one’s all deserved admiration. A flawless stage was the greatest gift to the audience.

She believed that a flicker of Chu Chuo’s love for the stage still lingered. The seamless storyline and exhilarating performance were truly remarkable.

Panting, Chu Chuo struck his final pose, but his gaze involuntarily drifted to Lin Zhiwei in the front row of the staff seats. She applauded along, perhaps just with the crowd, but her pre-show “Good luck” had unexpectedly made him take this performance more seriously.

He had heard many cheerings—from fans, assistants, staff—and many insults as well; all passed like the wind. But Lin Zhiwei’s seemingly casual encouragement was uniquely comforting.

In her eyes, he saw the young man who first fell in love with the stage. Surely, that young woman shared the same earnest dedication and passion.

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“My throat’s almost hoarse! Chuo Chuo’s so immersed!”

“Waaah, I’m crying! It’s been ages since I’ve seen Chuo Chuo work this hard.”

“Chuo Chuo’s tonight’s dark horse prince—passionate, commanding, and invincible.”

...

“Wow, this whole show has made even a middle-aged man like me feel like a teenage girl again!” Ho Liang took the stage, his usual humor intact. “It’s just too fiery, too explosive.”

“If even Teacher Ho says that, then I’m beyond words—I’m drooling all over,” Qin Yue exaggerated her expression, prompting laughter from the audience.

“Xiao Yue, don’t start drooling now—we still have the finale,” Ho Liang warned, turning his head.

“Oh, of course, of course. The last act tonight is definitely the grand finale. Teacher Ho, let’s get offstage before the crowd drives us off,” Qin Yue replied.

“Here he comes! Brother Ling is on!” Mei Ning nervously grabbed Xiao Yu’s hand. Although they had accompanied Brother Ling through countless trials and venues, the pressure of the finale was still palpable.

“Why are you pulling me? I want to cling to Brother Lin,” Xiao Yu scoffed, shaking off Mei Ning and turning toward Lin Zhiwei’s embrace.

“Hey, Xiao Yu, if you dare touch Brother Ling, you’re asking for trouble,” Mei Ning warned sharply.

“Brother Ling’s not here, so why worry?” Xiao Yu retorted.

...

Their banter helped ease Lin Zhiwei’s tension. She took a deep breath; although she had watched rehearsals several times, this was the first time with full lighting and stage effects. The realization that the presentation was drawing closer to her dream stage stirred a complex mix of emotions.

“Hmph, our Chuo Chuo excels at both singing and dancing. What else can your Ling Yingdi do besides acting?” Chu Chuo’s fans jeered loudly.

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“Don’t mind them. Just wait for the results,” Ling Ziheng’s fan club president replied calmly.

The countdown on the big screen tightened everyone’s nerves, including chief director Lu Ran, who couldn’t help feeling anxious. Ling Yingdi’s performance was flawless, but as the first season neared its end, the ratings and online audience reactions weighed heavily on him.

The stage lit up with pure white light. The 4K surround screen displayed a Nordic paradise garden—pure, serene, immaculate, sacred... Words fell short of describing this heavenly realm.

“So beautiful,” fans whispered in awe.

What kind of world was this? Birdsong gradually filled the air, mingling with the gentle rustle of awakening blossoms and the diligent labor of angelic figures tending a water pool—beauty so breathtaking it was almost suffocating.

The rhythm’s beats blended with electronic sounds, leading into a distant violin melody. The adaptation was of the familiar old song “Aurora.”

This had once been the queen of pop’s breakthrough hit, with countless subsequent remixes. Yet the fusion of electronic beats and violin prelude was unique, instantly bringing to mind the song’s most famous lyric: “Love is a beam of light, so wondrous, and the gods of heaven are this light, the bearers of love.”

All the light converged center stage, where a man stood atop an iceberg wearing a retro black suit. The exquisite double-sided embroidery of classical patterns made him look like a Nordic deity—noble and aloof. A black lace-trimmed mask and his dark blue hair accentuated his snow-white complexion.

Tilting his head, the man played a translucent pale blue violin with intense focus. The ethereal sound mingled with the stage lighting reflected off the violin’s clear body, as if he were enveloped in a radiant halo.

“Hiss,” the audience collectively gasped, drawing in cool breaths.

Ling Ruoyu could actually play the violin—and it was immediately clear he was a master. Everyone exchanged glances, stunned.

Such a harmonious and heart-stirring scene: an elegant, noble god alone on an iceberg, drawing the bow across the strings, recalling memories of the past—a beauty and transcendence unmatched.

His sculpted features softened and tensed with the music, gripping the audience’s hearts. Lonely god, who do you long for? Your beloved?